


Blurred Lines

by dapper_teacup



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, F/M, Spoilers, Tyranny of King Washington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:17:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapper_teacup/pseuds/dapper_teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Washington begins having dreams of events that he knows haven't happened. Or have they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blurred Lines

**Author's Note:**

> This story wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. Since historical events were altered, I added another alteration as to why Martha Washington wasn't present in the DLC as queen. Enjoy!

The dreams did not concern him at first. He had strange dreams during the war, before he had acquired the scepter. The dreams he had been having recently were all the same setup. Events unfolded before him as if he were watching a stage play. Only, these ‘plays’ featured himself as well as people he knew. He supposed that he was having these new dreams because of the stress of being king.

When he awoke, he turned to tell Martha only to realize that she was not there. She died three years ago.

Washington wrapped his right hand around the scepter and immediately felt better. As ruler of America, he had to remain focused. Granted, after the attempted theft of the scepter by the Indian woman, he had been sidetracked chasing her down and making her pay for her crime. Thanks to General Arnold’s efforts of rooting them out, her kind would not present any more problems. Like the dreams, they would pass.

_“Arnold has betrayed us! Whom can we trust now?” he cried._

Another feature of the dreams was that he would experience whatever emotions his stage self was feeling. Now he felt anger, hurt, confusion, and disappointment. If this was a dream, why did it feel so real?

_That could not be right. Benedict Arnold was one of his best generals. Arnold had never been at West Point!_

As he watched, he felt a pulling sensation. He turned around, but did not see anyone. The pulling became more insistent. Opening his eyes, he saw the scepter lying next to him. He could not be sure, but he could have sworn that it had a soft glow whenever he first awoke.

Upon first seeing Benedict Arnold after the dream, Washington had the strongest desire to hang him for the traitor that he was. This was the norm were several weeks.

“General Arnold.” He asked after a meeting.

“Yes, your Majesty?”

“During the war, did you ever have any desire to take command of West Point?”

Arnold looked at him puzzled. “Sire?”

“Did you want to command West Point?” Washington almost shouted.

“While my war wounds did indeed cause me trouble and still do, they certainly did not prevent me from carrying out a field command.” His brow furrowed. “Your Majesty. Forgive me for prying, but are you well?”

“I am fine, General Arnold. There is no need to concern yourself.”

When he heard that Arnold had been assassinated, he was angry. Angry that a good man had died serving his king. Angry that he had not hanged for his crimes.

“It was only a dream.” the king told himself firmly. “These dreams are trying to cloud my judgment.”

The dreams ceased.

He could not hide his awe that the wolf hooded savage had survived. He could see the scars where he had shot him. If shooting him did not work, than losing his head would.

_“Tell him what you did ten years ago.” A man that appeared to be from the upper class had picked up his correspondence and had proceeded to read it._

The fact that some stranger had had the nerve to read his private letters irked Washington true enough. However, his full attention was on the other man.

It was the wolf hooded Indian. Except that he was in actual clothing and went by the name of Connor. Not only that, but it appeared that Washington and Connor were allies. The king had to admit that having someone with Connor’s abilities would certainly make things easier. In fact, it had made things easier…

This time, instead of being gently pulled, he was jerked backwards.

As the king lay in bed, something dawned on him. He could not be sure, but he was beginning to suspect that the reason the dreams were occurring again was because of the Indian. Now that he thought about it, the first batch of dreams happened right after he left Con… _the Indian_ for dead. The fact that he had escaped Benjamin Franklin did not surprise him.

Visions began appearing in his mind while doing random tasks. While riding in his carriage, he saw that spot where he and Connor had played bocce ball. Why on earth was he playing bocce ball with him? He had the spot burned. It was ridiculous that the dreams were making him paranoid.

_“My dear Old Man, why do you look so troubled?” He could not believe it, Martha was there!_

_There was no pyramid and he was not king, but he did not care. Everything seemed… right._

_“Martha… It’s nothing. Just the usual load of paperwork._

_She gave him a rueful smile. “You work yourself too hard.”_

_He smiled back at her and put a hand on her cheek._

The same pulling sensation occurred and he found himself staring at the ceiling. After he grabbed the scepter, he got dressed and stormed to his throne. The soldiers that he passed knew better than to try speaking to him.

He was going to personally kill that savage. When he did, the dreams would stop and he could rule America in peace.


End file.
